


fragments of decidedly [REDACTED] nature

by Aza (sazandorable)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Age Difference, Biting, Blow Jobs, Boss/employee sex, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Divergence, Consensual Non-Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Facials, Hand Jobs, M/M, MAG158 spoilers, Martin tops (kindof), Mild Painplay, Multi, Objectification, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Season 4 Spoilers, Threat Of Forced Supernatural Male Pregnancy, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Jonathan Sims, Trans Martin Blackwood, Unsafe Sex, Web!Martin, and unfortunately it's gr8, body theft, it's spiders. it's spiders mpreg (implied), sex involving an asexual character; not discussed, use of spooky powers during/for sex, when you're ace and you love your bf so you agree to a 3some with this hot guy you both hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-20 01:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22073884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sazandorable/pseuds/Aza
Summary: Random collection of unrelated no-context self-indulgent smut bits.1. Peter/Tim/Elias rough Lonely bullshit2. Elias/(trans!)Martin office bj3. Elias/(trans!)Jon/Martin sandwich4. Elias/Jon(/Martin) blow/handjobs training5. Martin/Elias forced spider mpreg scare6. Jonah!Martin/Jon body-theft extremely dubiously consented bjUPDATE:7. Elias/Martin (not really) consensual non-consent
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Tim Stoker, Jonah Magnus/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 28
Kudos: 180





	1. Peter/Tim/Elias rough Lonely bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are reading this fanfiction anywhere but on the website of archiveofourown or my personsocial media accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.
> 
> These will only occasionally have the littlest of context given, because the context was often just yelling horrible smut ideas at each other. If any of these is gonna be wholesome I can't think of it, so blanket mental health + spooky + consent issues content warnings. Occasionally featuring trans and/or ace character(s) with zero Deep Delving Into The Ramifications™ of it.

The man fucking Tim is not very caring about it.

This is true in more than one way: he is not gentle — his thrusts are rough and jerky, jolting Tim up and letting his hips or thighs hit the edge of the desk on the way back down every single time — and he fucks Tim like he isn’t really there.

Tim has a lot of experience, both in the kinky and in the plain unhealthy. This is far from his first time getting barebacked by a guy who could be his father and didn’t bother to exchange names. He’s done anonymous sex, he’s done roleplaying and cuckolding, he’s done sex with someone who was clearly thinking of someone else, he’s even done literal objectification — he’s not really into those last ones, but he doesn’t _mind_ being literally treated like furniture. He’s done a lot of sex that had no intention of making him feel good — he’s done humiliation, he’s done angry sex, he’s done miserable, grieving sex, he’s done sex as a way to avoid talking about his missing brother and the missing body.

He’s done a lot of stuff a lot more fucked up than this, objectively.

But none of it has ever made him feel this... disconnected. He’s felt far away from his body sometimes, pretty sure he dissociated for an entire month or so back in 2013, but he’s never felt this far away from his partner. More precisely: like his partner is so far away from him.

The man fucks him like Tim’s not there, like he’s not there, not like he’s not thinking about it but like this isn’t an interpersonal thing — and again, Tim has been used and objectified before: this isn’t that. This is yet another level of depersonalisation.

The guy’s hands on his hips are impersonal — Tim has always thought of that gesture as intrinsically possessive, but somehow, these hands are not only glaringly lacking any hint of that, but they themselves don’t seem to belong to anyone in particular. There are hands on his hips and they are nobody’s. They don’t go anywhere. There’s no one’s hands on his hips, no one’s dick ramming deep inside his ass, Tim is being fucked by no one, Tim is being fucked and he’s alone, his insides are rattling and his knees are bruising and there’s no one here, no touch, he hasn’t been touched in days, years, he hasn’t seen a human being in so long, he doesn’t remember what a person feels like, sounds like, looks like, he doesn’t remember his brother’s face

Something touches  
his chin

fingers — a hand — eyes, Elias’s eyes

Elias’s eyes are stars. Not shining, particularly, and not especially beautiful or any such shit, but — fixed points, guiding lights, the promise of home for a sailor lost at sea. A point of entry into the world again. If he can see Elias’s eyes Tim can find his way back.

Elias’s eyes snag into him like a fish hook in his gut and reel him in, hurting just as much

Tim jolts back into reality, in sync with the forwards thrust propelling his face into Elias’s hand.

Elias’s palm is on his cheek, fingers tilting his chin up and his thumb softly brushing tears away. Tim can’t think of a reason why but he isn’t surprised to find he’s crying, has been crying for a while judging by his drenched lip. His eyes are burning with tears, his throat dry, his skin screaming, even where it hasn’t been hitting and hitting and hitting the desk.

Elias’s eyes are on his, unblinking. Tim wishes, half-delirious, that he would look at his entire body too, make his naked body real again, decree its existence by taking record of it. Elias smiles just then, only a little, corner-of-the-lip smile, but it’s so sudden and so correctly timed that for a second Tim assumes Elias has heard his thought — and honestly, he could believe that, he’s seen stranger in this world and it would only make sense for Elias Bouchard to be supernatural. But it must be a coincidence, because Elias’ gaze doesn’t shift away from Tim’s eyes, even as he says:

“Peter, you promised to play nice.”

The man on Tim — he’s there now, very much so, Tim can’t even imagine not being aware of his presence, thick in his ass and hot and heavy on his back and overbearing, slamming him down on the desk, his voice resonating in Tim’s bones and like whistling in his ears somehow — the man chuckles on and in and all over Tim and says: “I’m not even doing anything!”


	2. Elias/Martin office bj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I had in mind Martin being trans in this one but it doesn't really come up until vaguely at the very very end... you do you)

Elias is not quite silent, but very quiet, and wordless. He doesn’t gasp, but he opens his mouth and exhales, low and controlled, as his fingers slowly tighten their grasp in Martin’s hair. It’s very flattering, really; though it’s not like he is completely inexperienced, Martin has no illusion of being particularly skilled, and Elias must have had many more satisfying encounters in his life. Still, a blowjob is a blowjob, he supposes, and gives one more experimental lick before gobbling up Elias’s cock.

Elias’s face _twists_ ; he isn’t visibly biting his lip but Martin can spot the taut shifting of his jaw. Elias’s hand moves through his curls to cradle the back of his skull and pull him closer, lower, deeper, and Martin obliges gladly enough. He considers closing his eyes, has to weigh the pros and cons because the sight of Elias’s facial expressions truly is a wonder of an ego-boost; in the end he elects for it, in order to focus on savouring the cock in his mouth.

It’s not actually an enjoyable taste, nor is the whole thing comfortable, especially when Elias keeps pushing deeper and forcing his jaw wider, but one thing Martin is an expert at is taking what he’s dealt and making the most of it. He’s been working on being less of a compulsive people-pleaser, but it’s not always all bad.

Elias sure looks pleased, when Martin opens his eyes again, and Martin is fine with this: Elias, face contorted and lips open, suddenly bucking hard into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat and making him gag, then pulling harshly on his hair, tugging Martin’s head backwards, everything painful and uncomfortable from his neck to his throat to his strained lips, Elias’s cock slipping out from between them, the gorged head resting on his spit-slick lower lip for a second, before he shifts again just enough to come over Martin’s face. Martin has the reflex to blink, shielding his eyes from the spray, but he still sees.

He’s kept his mouth open, catching some spill onto his tongue, and when Elias is done, still silent and wordless but panting hard, Martin slowly savours that, too: swallows, then licks his lip, and what he can reach around his mouth and chin, what’s dripping down from his face, what he can collect from Elias’s cock limp on his cheek. Distractedly, he thinks that it’s good he had the foresight to take off his glasses. Elias’s hand is still a tight and painful fist knotted in the back of his hair.

Martin methodically licks up and swallows everything he can get, and then catches his breath for a bit, and then says, evenly: “All right then.”

Elias chortles, still breathless. Martin probably shouldn’t be pleased and proud of himself about that. “Quite,” he says. “Thank you, Martin, that was,” and there’s a little pause there because his voice breaks a little, “satisfactory.”

Martin hums derisively in response; it comes out a little rougher than he planned it to because his throat hurts more than he expected. Elias shivers against him, and finally lets him go. Martin doesn’t pull away, though; he leans his face against Elias’s belly and pulls himself upwards, sliding his body against Elias’s body, slotting his legs against Elias’s legs, his thighs against Elias’s thighs, his knees around Elias’s hips, his arms around Elias’s shoulders. He stops when his lips are level with Elias’s, which, because Elias is not that tall, means he’s resting a lot of his weight on his crotch pressed on Elias’ thigh. He’d gotten used to sitting in Elias’s chair, liked it a lot, but he thinks he can settle for regularly sitting on Elias’s lap.

“Satisfactory?” he repeats, quietly, brushing Elias’s lips as they quirk up.

“Or thereabouts.”

Martin hums in thought. “I should bite it off next time.”

Elias laughs, quiet, quiet, breathy, breathless, and it’s truly impressive how much more bearable he is like this, wrung dry and pinned by Martin. “So little faith! I don’t mean it in a bad way. In fact, I am considering rewarding your performance.”

Martin almost kisses him for that.

Instead, he thinks about it for a moment, and then he pulls himself up, and further up, rising to his knees above Elias.

“Ah, I am afraid I’m not young enough anymore for—”

“Yeah, I know,” Martin interrupts, though riding Elias, preferably in this chair, is definitely in his to-do list of the week too. Right now, however, what he does is lean one of his arms on the backrest of the chair, and with the other one, push Elias’s head down and into his crotch. “But unless you already have arthritis, I think you can handle eating me out.”

Elias moans between his legs, quiet but hot and undone, and Martin definitely likes him inarticulate.


	3. Elias/Jon/Martin sandwich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how fluffy some of these are. This one features trans!Jon and is related to the next one. Uses the words "clit", "folds" and "wet" about him.

Jon squirms, his face twisting in a grimace of discomfort, but he doesn’t say the word. Which is not indicative of very much; Martin loves him enough to be aware that pig-headed mulishness is one of Jon’s biggest flaws, so he looks for it. But no, Jon doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t tense. When he returns Martin’s kiss, it is soft and tender, no fear or anxiety. This really is okay.

So Martin breaks away and sits back to watch.

Elias scoffs against the nape of Jon’s neck and pushes his way in, with a grunt that Jon echoes. Martin ticks; Elias never uses enough lube and he knows it. Jon doesn’t seem in actual pain, but he’s not yet exactly enjoying this, and Elias starting to move does the opposite of helping.

It’s a wonderful sight, though.

Martin stays still a little longer just to take it in, bask in it. Jon’s eyes are closed, his face flushed, and his breathing is getting faster, almost to panting, with the occasional little gasp. Elias’s face is hidden in his neck, his hair, his shoulders, as he nuzzles and kisses up and down them, and Jon scowls each time but his face is becoming slack, hazy, dreamy. He is very beautiful when he’s getting fucked, in a fragile, flickering way, something that must remain rare and be treasured.

Elias gives a mean-spirited harsh thrust and Jon yelps quietly, choked. He opens his eyes and finds Martin’s immediately, as though he already knew where they were; his pupils are blown and he’s not quite crying, but humid. His left hand twitches and reaches out for Martin, so of course Martin takes it, squeezes reassuringly, and shuffles closer to kiss him again. And again, warm, loving. Jon kisses back as sweetly and softly as if they were standing in Martin’s kitchen in the golden morning over warm pancakes, even as Martin feels the jolts reverberating in Jon’s body of Elias pressing himself inside of it.

Jon is doing this for him, Martin knows, but Jon has definitely earned a little treat too.

He whines a little and Elias chuckles and shifts them slightly to help make way for Martin’s hand to crawl down between Jon’s thighs. He is quite dry, which is simultaneously understandable and a tragedy; Martin kisses him again and retreats a few inches to softly stroke his thumb over Jon’s clit instead. Elias isn’t being anywhere near as gentle, but from the shortness of Jon’s rapid breathing in Martin’s mouth, he is enjoying the contrast.

When Martin next extends his fingers down to rub against Jon’s folds again, he is wet and slick and trembling and Martin slips inside him easily. Elias whispers: “Shall we try something?” and meets Martin’s glance pointedly, his eyes twinkling. He marks a pause before his next thrust, and in just a few goes the two of them have timed their rhythm to pull out and sink in in sync, and Jon keens into Martin’s mouth as they fuck him slowly but thoroughly.

So basically, Elias is sometimes useful to keep around.


	4. Elias/Jon(/Martin) blow/handjobs training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Related to the previous one, Elias teaches Jon how to please Martin.

a. blowjobs

Jonathan has a fascinating manner of mixing eagerness with reluctance. Guilt tints near everything he does; if he wants to do something, almost by inherent definition, he is loathe to do it, and, more interestingly, vice versa.

In the current situation, this translates to his pupils being blown wide and his eyelids never blinking, his dark gaze never looking away from Elias’s erect cock, even as he gripes about the whole idea. Elias contains a sigh.

“There is really no need to act so ungrateful,” he reminds his bullheaded Archivist. “I am only helping out.”

Jon snorts, quite disgracefully. His eyes still do not budge. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you are deriving no personal enjoyment out of this.”

“The things we do for your little assistant.”

“You _hate_ Martin,” Jon protests. This is not untrue, but not the entire truth either, which has been driving him crazy.

Elias smiles. “But you should see him squirming when the head of his cock is being tongued just the way he likes.”

Jon turns red. Elias can put a finger on each emotion as they cycle over his spasming face: embarrassment, anger, jealousy, longing, desire, arousal. He is picturing it. He knows it happens, he knows Martin loves it. He wants to _see_ it.

“See,” Elias observes snidely, “you have mastered the first part: opening your mouth. How about trying to progress to the second step?”

Jon glowers, and sinks down, and Elias exhales blissfully for the first perfect moment his Archivist’s literally bewitching mouth envelops him, then he pushes his fingers through the thick hair and grabs a fistful to pull him down harder.

After all, Martin likes to be rough.

b. handjobs

Jon is nothing that could be called talented at such things. Erotism does not come naturally to him; he “doesn’t get it”, as he puts it — does not instinctively know where or how to touch, get the appeal of either demure or concupiscent attitude, nor feel a thrill or desire for any action or body part. Unfortunately, the angle he has elected to focus on to make up for this shortcoming is understanding the physiology of arousal and the mechanics of sex, of which no amount is going to make him more sensual. Elias tries not to let it aggravate him past the point of enjoying, at the very least, the warm contact of Jon’s clumsy hands on his cock.

Jon shifts his weight, trying to get comfortable bearings, propped on his free hand; reflexively his fingers squeeze just slightly, and the barest trace of fingernails catch on Elias’s sensitive skin, and Elias lets escape a quiet gasp. His eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second. When they open, Jon is watching his face, eyes bright, expression tight.

“Like this, then?” he says, in the absolute least flirty or arousing tone of voice, and then he repeats the gesture exactly. Just enough pressure, just enough scrape of his fingernails along the length of Elias’s cock and Elias moans out loud this time.

No, Jon is not intrinsically talented — but he _is_ a very fast learner.


	5. Martin/Elias forced spider mpreg scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Web!Martin and gratuitously also a Lukas. I'm very conflicted over the context for this one but you know what, it's hot, so whatever

Elias lets out a hum of appreciation and, generally, is looking way too pleased and self-satisfied with his situation, so Martin pushes his head down and pulls his thigh up and gives a hard thrust at the new, harsh angle; Elias groans into the desk, uncontrolled and loud, and that, Martin decides, is much better.

Elias’s back is large and wide, skin pale and void of any scar or marking. No fingernails, no worms, no bullets or knives, no fire or explosions. It’s not very fair. Almost a provocation.

Elias sighs and twists under him as the angle changes again, as Martin leans down, close. When Martin bites the side of his neck, though, he gasps, then hisses. Fucking Elias is its own reward, of course, but these are almost Martin’s favourite aspect of it: all the little things he lets slip, the spontaneous exclamations and shameful moans, how affected he is and how he can’t hide it, the way his unflappable mask finally slips off his sweat-drenched face and he loses any semblance of control over his own reactions, along with any way to control what is done to him. Apparently he can’t handle Martin being in charge, which is another of the deeply satisfying parts of this arrangement.

Martin lets go for just a second to give a lick of his tongue over the tender skin, mostly just because he knows Elias and his clean-freak streak has a hard time with fluids and slobbery mouths; then he bites again, harder.

Elias nearly whines (someday Martin will get there, won’t stop until he does) and loudly moans instead, and twists his arm back to grasp blindly at the back of Martin’s head. His fingers catch Martin’s curls, grab a handful and pull, hard enough that the intent clearly is to hurt, but also to keep his head in place, press Martin’s face against the nape of Elias’s neck.

Martin inhales the warm and sweaty scent of his skin, and starts moving again. Elias’s breathing goes high-pitched.

Martin keeps biting as he fucks him, keeps biting while he comes, keeps biting until he draws blood, then he licks that, too. It’s not a matter of the taste, he isn’t that kind of monster, but Elias is heaving and shaking under him, and that, that Martin enjoys.

He cleans it all up, lazily, through his comfortable afterglow; then he sucks a hard kiss into the crook of Elias’s neck before pulling out, on his own time. White stickiness dribbles out of Elias’s arse with him, trickles down the back of his pale thighs; a few drops even splash down onto his gleaming floorboards.

Elias scampers across the desk instantly, blindly pulls open a drawer and rifles around for a bottle of disinfectant. He’s breathing so hard, so loud, his hands shaking so hard it takes him a moment to open it. For a second, Martin thinks he’s going to drop the bottle and empty all of it; he doesn’t, but the cotton swab is dripping with how much liquid he used.

Martin leans against the desk, smiling sleepily, and watches while Elias, still half-collapsed across the surface of it, dabs the wound clean.

“Aw,” Martin says. “And here I thought you’d appreciate getting some Lukas children.”

“Would they even be Lukases?” Elias snorts, but it’s strangled and stuttering.

Martin leans in again to smell the fear on his skin. “Itty-bitty Magnus Lukas spiders,” he whispers.

“You little horror,” Elias mutters in response. He’s grinning, through the cold sweat and full-body shivering, and still hard.

Martin doesn’t feel like doing him a favour. Instead, he brushes his knuckles along the curve of Elias’s arse, and adds casually: “Good luck disinfecting that.”

He feels the jump reverberating through Elias’s body at that, and grins in turn.

Elias reflexively clutches a weak, twitching hand over his own belly. He closes his eyes, breathes in and out a few times, trying to gather himself, and Martin counts the seconds. “That’s not how the Web works,” he says, eventually. “It’s not into the whole insects and body horror. Parasitism would be the Corruption, Flesh if you really insist on going down the route of the alien pregnancy cliché.”

“I don’t know, you seem pretty upset about the idea of not controlling your body,” Martin retorts gleefully.

He pushes a finger in again and kisses Elias’s tense shoulder.

“Wonder which way they’ll come out.”


	6. Jonah!Martin/Jon body-theft extremely dubiously consented bj

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAG158/159 spoilers and canon-divergence, unfortunate sequel to [smooth succession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005877)

It’s not quite familiarity. Martin has never touched Jon’s thighs, never wrapped his hands around them, squeezed his muscle or rubbed soothing circles into his skin. It has never happened, never come even close. Yet this is a feeling Jon knows, in some way, just because his brain can reconstruct it, from fragments; foremost, all the evidence pointing to the likelihood that Martin would have liked to do it, if Jon had offered, if Jon had let him. All the times Tim joked and Basira teased and Melanie rolled her eyes, all the times Martin flushed and stammered. All the times he looked — not at Jon’s thighs, specifically, but at Jon. At Jon’s eyes, at Jon’s mouth, at Jon’s own hands. All the times Jon caught him, and all the times he didn’t, but knows of, now. All of Martin’s reveries about grasping Jon’s too-long hair, pushing up his wrinkled shirts or pulling down his ill-fitting trousers. Martin’s hands have a very active dreamed life of touching Jon, and he knows all the fine points of it now, recognises it as clearly as if it had ever truly happened — this, how Martin’s hands are touching him right now, is exactly how, for the past two years, Martin would have touched him.

The actual feeling of Martin’s skin, though, he does recognise from his own physical experience. Not on his thighs or arse or stomach, because Martin never asked for what Jon would not have given, but on his shin, extracting worms from his flesh. On his own hand, bandaging the wound from something not named Michael. On the side of his face, the brush of thumb over his lower lip, before they kissed, that time which was the one and only time they kissed even though Jon is now intimately familiar with Martin’s hands and lips and mouth. They are soft, warm hands, large enough to wrap around his thighs, and soft, silky lips and a hot, wet mouth on Jon’s dick. Martin never did this but he fantasised about it very often, did you know, Jon? He knows now. A vivid imagination, Martin had, enriched with past experiences in this sort of thing with other people. He never asked but he had enough material to build and entertain a very precise vision of how Jon could feel, could taste, could shiver and squirm under those very same lips, how Jon could want it and beg for it, how Jon could come in this very same mouth and what savour he might have, in great detail.

Martin’s mouth slowly pulls away from Jon’s spent cock, careful with the tender flesh, and it smiles, exactly the smile Jon is so well acquainted with, as Martin’s tongue licks Martin’s lips clean, and Martin’s hands stroke Jon’s skin gently, lovingly, exactly the way Martin did, would, would have.

“He was nowhere near this good at giving head, however, so really, you ought to be grateful,” Martin’s mouth says in Martin’s voice, and grins, and grins, and grins, reaching eyes which are not Martin’s eyes.


	7. Elias/Martin, (not really) consensual non-consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's 3-sentences microfic with the prompt: "Martin/Elias, cnc but also like. not, because Elias has total control over the negotiations and there's no real way Martin can say no". So, CW for. that.
> 
> Trans martin, narration uses the word "cunt".

Martin is crying before the end of it, which is pretty typical, honestly; he allows the tears to flow partly because it makes Elias happy, partly to have evidence. It’s a reassurance, to himself, that it really is painful, that he was right to not want it, even if he said yes, even if Elias makes sure he comes, like he always does.

“I want to hurt you,” Elias had whispered in his ear, and the problem (one of the many, many problems) with Elias is that there’s no use saying no when Martin knows he knows that made his cunt twinge.


End file.
